


Look Down

by sunsetmog



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Working things out, premature baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baby is a teeny-tiny, premature, red-faced scrap of a thing, and hidden in the crook of Nick's elbow, she's barely anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Down

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on my tumblr](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/83765259573/fic-look-down-harry-nick-baby-fic).
> 
> I don't promise I won't write more ficlets in this verse. /o\

The baby is a teeny-tiny, premature, red-faced scrap of a thing, and hidden in the crook of Nick's elbow, she's barely anything at all. 

"Nick—" Harry says, but Nick doesn't look at him. 

"I like Agatha," he says, touching the tip of his finger to her tiny, flushed cheek. She's too small for any of the clothes he'd bought her, so she's just in the smallest nappy Nick's ever seen, and wrapped up in a striped blanket with a hat so terribly tiny Nick is scared he'll lose it when he takes it off her. "Or Annie. But Annie's already taken that one, so I probably can't name her that, right?"

"Nick—" Harry says again, but Nick isn't here for any of Harry's shit right now. He doesn't care. 

"Sophie, maybe. She seems like a Sophie, right? Or Lucy, perhaps. What's short for Agatha?"

"Aggie, maybe," Harry says. "Nick, will you just look at me?"

Nick doesn't have anything to say to Harry. It's been three months. "Agatha," he says, softly. "Agatha Sophie Grimshaw. Welcome to the world, little love."

"I love you," Harry says. "I'm in love with you."

Nick ducks his head to press a kiss to his daughter's tiny forehead. She'd been born three weeks early; she's spent the last two days in an incubator. He hadn't been able to bear the idea of naming her whilst she was still in a box. "You're too late," he says. "I needed you three months ago. I needed you two days ago. You're too late."

"I'm sorry," Harry says, and it hurts too much, this. Nick's not going to pretend he doesn't care. He couldn't, even if he tried. "I'm so sorry. I made the biggest mistake."

"You left me," Nick says, and he's barely slept in two days. He's bought out every baby department in every shop in London, and battled together a cot with extremely sub-par instructions, and he's fucking moved house, and dealt with a dog with terrible anxiety about a new home, and now he has a _baby_. He is a father, a dad, and it's already abundantly clear that nothing will ever be the same again. "Is this really the best time you could think of to do this?"

"I've flown half way round the world," Harry says. "You know they're on stage right now, right? They're on stage without me. I heard about—about Agatha, and I got on a plane."

"There's going to be a lot of upset fans right now," Nick says, and he looks up then, at Harry standing awkwardly by the tiny crib that's Agatha's home in hospital. He looks exhausted, thin and tired, dark shadows under his eyes, greasy hair under a stupid fucking hat. There's a hole in both knees of his jeans, and his messenger bag is held together with electrical tape. "Christ, you look a wreck."

"I couldn't bear it," Harry says. "You being here and me being there. If anything had happened to her—"

Nick holds on to her a little tighter. "You left me," he says, because Harry _had_. Harry had walked out of his flat to go on tour, leaving Nick with a pregnant Aimee to care for, and a baby on the way, and no one to call at the end of the day every day. 

"I was wrong," Harry says. "It's the biggest mistake I've ever made. I'm so, so sorry."

Nick hums, and cradles Agatha a little closer. "I don't know what you want from me," he says, softly. 

"I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay. That you and Aimee and Ian and the baby were okay."

"They discharged Aimee yesterday. You only just missed her. She wouldn't go until she was sure Agatha was all right. Ian's just taken her home."

"How is she?"

"Tired. Glad not to be pregnant anymore. The best person I've ever known."

"She did this for you."

"Yeah," Nick says. He lets out a breath. He's missed Harry so much it's felt like he'd left a part of himself behind somewhere, like there's a phantom shadowing him everywhere he goes, a _what-would-Harry-do_ voice in his head that won't let him rest. "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"I told you. I heard and I came."

"Yeah," Nick says. He can't play games anymore. "But what are you offering?"  
Harry puts his bag and his hat down on the floor by Agatha's little cot. 

"Everything," he says, helplessly, hands out. "Everything I've got."

Nick blinks, ducking his gaze down to his beautiful, sleepy, snuffling baby girl. "I'm a dad, now," he says. "It can't be like before. Ad-hoc."

"I know," Harry says. "I don't want that."

"There's just me, Haz. Her and me. You can't run in and out of our lives. There can't—" he stops, and clears his throat. "There can't be anyone else. Not for the papers and not for real."

Harry shakes his head. "I swear," he says, and he drops down to his knees by Nick's chair and presses his forehead to Nick's arm. "I've missed you so, so much. I was so scared for you. For her. And Aimee."

Nick's trembling. He can't help it. "I can't promise anything," he says. "This could be the worst idea we've ever had."

"I want it so much," Harry tells him. He tentatively curls his hand around Nick's knee. "Please."

Nick swallows. "God," he says, and his voice catches. "I thought she might die. She's so tiny."

"She's beautiful," Harry says, and he reaches out to touch his fingertip to Agatha's cheek. 

"When do you have to go back?"

"Soon," Harry says. "But I want to come home to you."

Harry's had a part of Nick's heart for so long now that Nick can't remember even giving it to him. Being apart for three months hasn't changed that. But it's just that he's so tired. He's so, so tired, and he hasn't even taken Agatha home for the first time yet. His tiny, fierce, strong daughter who's taken on the last two days and won. Who's going to take on the fucking world and win; who's going to change every single part of Nick's life, even the good bits, and make them different. Better, mostly, but sometimes just different. 

Nick carefully, slowly, threads his fingers into Harry's, and Harry lets out a ragged breath and pitches forward, forehead pressed to Nick's shoulder.

"I love you," Harry tells him again, and Nick can't help but shift a little in his seat, nudging at Harry's mouth with his own. It's barely a kiss. Nick's too worn out and fractured and tense to manage anything other than the most tentative of touches. 

"Last chance," Nick says, pulling away. "I can't do this again."

"I know," Harry says. "Don't think I don't know that."

Nick tucks Agatha a little tighter into her stripy blanket. "This is Harry, love. He terrifies me more than anyone else on the planet."

"Nick—"

"I've loved him for so long I can't remember not," he goes on, making sure her tiny hat is all straight. Her movements are little and slow and measured, the curve of a finger, the stretch of her foot. He can't imagine how she'll grow into someone bigger, someone with her own thoughts and wants and needs and wishes. How does that even happen? How has he grown from a social butterfly with no responsibilities, to a dog-owning father with a house and a garden and a daughter and a secret affair with the love of his fucking life? "I'm trusting you," he says, nudging his knee into Harry's. "I'm trusting you with all of this. With me. With her."

"I swear," Harry says, "I'm not going anywhere."

He is, though, and that's the thing. He'll be flying back out soon enough, then on to another country, and another one, and another one. But maybe it's who he comes home to that's the important bit. 

"Stay," he says, and Agatha murmurs at that, wriggling just a little. It must almost be time for her feed. "Stay with me until you have to go."

"Yeah," Harry says, and his eyes are bright and just a little bit wet. "I promise."


End file.
